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Bond…James Bond.

By Bobbie Cimo

It’s easy to tell that I’m a James Bond freak. Not only does my E-mail address have 007 in it and my mouse pad has Sean Connery’s picture on it, but my screen saver at work flashes different Bond imagery across it. But I’m not just a James Bond fan, I’m a Sean Connery, James Bond fan. You know the type who thinks there’s only one Bond.

At my Artist Way Class a few weeks back, we were asked to write down five of our favorite movies and give a line or two on what each movie was about or why we liked it. On my list was “From Russia With Love”, but when it came to telling why I picked it, I had to be honest with my classmates. I only went to see him (Sean Connery) and it took me five times to figure out what the plot was about. I have since seen it many more times, and I still don’t care about the plot.

I like Roger Moore, but not as James Bond. In my eyes, he’ll always be Simon Templar, TV’s version of “The Saint”. Just as Pierce Brosnan will always be Remington Steele to me.

In between, there were a few other Bonds. One being George Lazenby, who played in “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.” I would loved to have seen Sean Connery do the part, as it was the only movie where Bond falls in love and gets married. But instead it went to Lazenby, who had thought that by making a Bond flick, it would lead him to more lucrative movie deals. So he quit after only one Bond movie. The parts never came his way and rumor had it he gambled away all the earnings he made from his 007 flick, even before the movie was released.

Also playing the fictional character was Timothy Dalton, who I basically remembered from playing in a bad mini-series, called “Scarlett”, which was suppose to be the sequel to “Gone With The Wind”. However, he did play a more serious Bond than others, but because I associated him with the mini-series, I could never think of him as 007.

Just for the record, I do find Daniel Craig to be the second best Bond there is. He might not be a Sean Connery, but he does a terrific job of it. By the way, his favorite Bond is Connery, too.

I have seen Roger Moore a few times in person, and once I even got to see Sean Connery, himself. I was backstage and he was standing alone, a few feet away from me. But I found myself unable to approach him. I just remember his arched eyebrows and how they framed those magnificent eyes of his. And I’m not ashamed to say, when his eyes met mine, inwardly, I melted.

It took me a long time to realize why I didn’t take the opportunity to go up to him and tell him how much I had enjoyed his work. The truth of the matter is I think I was afraid that he might not measure up to my expectation, not only as James Bond, but as Sean Connery. And perhaps some things are best left unknown.

Less than a decade ago, I was a smoker. I have since given up the habit; but at the time, I could have easily stepped out of my office onto the rooftop of CBS for a cigarette. Unfortunately, it was a bad way to meet a lot of interesting people.

One wintry evening, while at work, I found myself in need of a smoke, so I stepped out into the darkness. Since it was raining, I had no choice but to huddle against the outside glass wall of my office so I could stand beneath the narrow awning that was protecting me from the rain. Suddenly, what seemed to be from out of nowhere, appeared a tall, dark stranger dressed all in black, wearing a turtle neck sweater. As he took a puff of his cigarette, he struck up a conversation with me. I could see from the spray of light coming from my office, behind us, that his eyes were blue. His chiseled features, along with his cleft chin, gave him a rugged appearance. And when he spoke, it was with a charming British accent, so no matter what he had to say, it sounded wonderful. It was Timothy Dalton.

We talked about our mutual bad smoking habit– the pride he had in his son– and the weather differences between London and California. Over a second cigarette, we laughed and talked some more, until he was told that he was needed on stage, whereas I went back into my office, pleasantly surprised to learn what a nice man he was. He might not know it, but that night he earned himself a new fan. And as I sat back at my desk, something dawned on me. It might not have been Sean Connery, but I had been outside, into the night and out in the rain, smoking a cigarette with Bond…James Bond. How cool was that?

Fred, Ginger & Me

by Bobbie Cimo

As I left my office to go to lunch the other day, it dawned on me all the things that I’ve taken for granted while working at CBS. Most people walking down a busy corridor will bump into another employee or an occasional mail cart. As for myself, if I don’t watch it, I can easily be hit by a brand new car or SUV that’s being pushed down the hall to The Price is Right by a stage hand not paying attention. Or perhaps when venturing up to Accounts Payable, it’s the norm for me to see a fully furnished room being pulled down the hall, attached to a tugger (mini tractor). And if by chance someone dies on the soaps, it’s not unusual to see a casket or headstone stored in the Prop Room that I walk through every morning to get my coffee. Nor, to say hi, to a guy I’ve never seen before, as he heads towards the commissary, wearing only his pajamas and slippers.

Most of the time this is all very amusing, except for the time (before cell phones) when I stepped inside a public phone booth to make a personal call, only to find out I was standing inside a prop. Not amused.

Some people get their fresh air by going to a park on their lunch hour, whereas I just go up to the roof top and then about fifty feet from the helicopter pad, flop myself down into my favorite lounge chair. I usually eat my lunch while enjoying the view of the Hollywood sign that’s facing me. It’s the same sign I’ve seen a thousand times in movie magazines while growing up…only now it’s real and in person. And after a quick lunch, I’m down for my forty minute powernap before heading back to work.

Those are some of the things that I’ve taken for granted while working at CBS, but stepping outside of my office and finding the famed Ginger Rogers seated in a wheelchair, well, that was a surprise. At the time, my office was right down the hall from Stage 46, where they were taping the British version of “This is Your Life,” honoring Ann Miller, and Ginger was one of the guests. Not only was she in a wheelchair and overweight, but she wore tons of make-up and her hair was dry and over bleached. It saddened me to see this legendary star, who at this time was in her early eighties, in this condition. Knowing she had no husband or children, I did wonder who was in charge of taking care of her.

I only recently found out she was of the Christian Science faith and didn’t believe in going to doctors or in traditional medicines. I also learned that she had an unusual amount of peach fuzz on her face and was very sensitive about it, but refused to have it removed. And that was the reason for the heavy make-up.

Because of all the flutter around her preparing her to go on stage, I never got a chance to talk to her. If I had, I would have told her how much I enjoyed all of her body of works. And I probably would have shared with her the fact that as teenager, my mother was so impressed with her, she took the name of Ginger, herself. A name she went by her entire adult life.

Working on the AFI’s, honoring Fred Astaire, was one of my favorite assignments. Besides keeping track of show cost I was the go- to- girl for almost everything else. If dancer Gregory Hines wanted his red shoes polished before doing his routine, he’d hand them over to me. If Jimmy Stewart needed his parking ticket validated, I was the person to see. And the best of them all–when Bette Davis lost the belt to her rain coat, she came to me.

Like all of the AFI shows, there were plenty of film clips to be viewed during rehearsal. And as much as I have enjoyed all of them from various recipients, nothing was more fabulous than those from the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies. I don’t think there was a person working the show who didn’t have this sudden urge to do a little Fred or Ginger themselves…some even gliding across the floor, making their way to the restroom.

At the time, Fred, like Ginger, was in his early eighties. He was thin and frail looking, and there were times when he would unexpectedly doze off at the table. But when they called his name, nobody showed more pep or vigor than he did when he sprang to his feet and ran up the stairs to accept his award.

Working with him was a joy. He was a true professional who asked for no special treatment and who was very sweet to everyone around him. At the end of our time together, I asked him for an autograph–not for myself, but for my mother, “Ginger”.